


Prompted

by hannahrhen



Series: Prompted [1]
Category: The Avengers (Marvel Movies), Thor (Movies)
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Bonding, Clone Sex, Conservative Pundit Bullshittery, Corsetry, Developing Relationship, Domestication, Fluff, Healthy Relationships, Jealousy, M/M, Magic, Mildly Dubious Consent, Public Display of Affection, References to Spanking, Rough Sex, Schmoop, Soul Bond, Soulmates, Topping from the Bottom, Unhealthy Relationships, Unrequited Crush
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-12
Updated: 2013-10-27
Packaged: 2017-11-25 04:07:27
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 12
Words: 8,161
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/634946
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hannahrhen/pseuds/hannahrhen
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>First up, a jealous god. And it goes from there.</p>
<p>Prompt fills from Tumblr, different ratings, different kinks ...</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Five Words or Fewer

**Author's Note:**

> Prompt fills from my Tumblr at <http://hannahrhen.tumblr.com> ...

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It was the first fight they’d had without actual armor involved.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter **rated M** for brief sexual situations.
> 
> Prompt: _Frostiron prompt, 5 words or less? “Out for a walk, bitch.”_ (and loosely based in the [Ice and Dust and Light](http://archiveofourown.org/series/19686) 'verse)

It was the first fight they’d had without actual armor involved. When Steve had asked Tony to go see a movie, Tony had said yes. He’d loved Pan’s Labyrinth, and, yeah, the Hellboy films, and he was all over any movie with giant robots fighting giant lizards or whatever-the-hell. Going out hadn’t seemed like an issue.

It had, in fact, been an issue.

When Steve had announced their plans in the common room, the hums and fragments of acknowledgment faded immediately, and Tony had turned, granola bar in hand, to find himself stared at by the tall figure his teammates suddenly wanted to avoid.

Loki had been … “incredulous” was a good word. In retrospect, Tony realized he’d been stupid—unprecedentedly stupid—but who knew—

Then, of course, he couldn’t exactly back down when he had a six-foot-two Norse god pressing his finger into his chest, telling him he couldn’t go. The finger turned into a hand, the hand grabbed his throat—

And then, in a blink, Loki was on the other side of the room. Rage and … some kind of horror burned up his face. He turned toward the door—

“Where are you going?” Tony asked, starting to follow.

“Nowhere,” had been the raw answer. “Just … out.”

Tony had been too sour to go the movie, so Steve silently grabbed Clint instead.

Later that night, it had taken Bruce to pop the bubble of Tony’s righteous indignation. Sitting across the bar, he’d asked, voice full of tolerant amusement, “So … Loki being jealous surprised you, huh?” He gave a little, almost sarcastic “hm” that, yeah, pissed the other man off.

Tony brought his glass down hard on the wood. “Oh, Bruce—really? You’re gonna make me do this?” He glowered at Bruce’s nonchalant shrug. “Fine.” He looked back down, back at his sloshed drink. Gave in: “Your point is … ?”

Bruce chewed on some cocktail nuts—slowing down the conversation to manage his mood. Then, “You picked a guy whose chief emotion appears to be jealousy, followed by psychotic paranoia, and … you invited him to move in with you.” He ignored Tony’s protest; they all knew the circumstances, but the end result was the same. “I’m not saying—look, Tony,” he wrangled the man’s attention, since Tony was still complaining. “I’m not saying you don’t go see the movie. I’m just saying … maybe next time you just tell him?”

Tony hadn’t gotten drunk that night, so he knew the minute Loki was back, standing in the bathroom doorway as Tony finished filling a glass of water. Tony turned around, rested his lower back on the sink, and didn’t say a word. Only met Loki’s eyes silently.

In bed, later, he’d let Loki fuck him, and simply held the back of his head with one tight hand as Loki sank sharp teeth into his shoulder.

The next time? Yeah, he’d still gone to the fucking movie. Just to be clear. And if he’d told Loki ahead of time? That was just to spare himself the bite marks.


	2. Underneath

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Loki’s fingers tightened around the headboard’s vertical slats.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter **rated Explicit** for sexual situations.
> 
> Prompt: _I want Dominant!Bottom!Tony. Good Luck figuring that out ..._
> 
> CHALLENGE ACCEPTED!
> 
> A follow-on to [Use Your Inside Voice, Tony Stark](http://archiveofourown.org/works/602466).

Loki’s fingers tightened around the headboard’s vertical slats.

“Move, Stark,” he growled, but the mortal above him just smirked in answer.

“Like this?” He felt Stark grind down a bit, and then clench around the base of Loki’s cock. A spark of heat, but not enough—

“I said _move_!” Loki tore one hand away from the headboard posts and—

“Uh-uh-uh!” Stark sing-songed, and Loki actually stayed his own hand, caught in the space between them. “I told you I’d keep going as long as you kept your hands where they are. You may not want me to tie you down, but if you want me to play along, you do what I say.” 

How Stark was able to remain in control when his own cock jutted out from his belly, hot and dark … 

Another barely-perceived lift, another hot grind down onto him, pushing Loki’s hips into the thick bedding. Loki exhaled sharply, gave Stark a furious look as he curled his fingers back around the thin wood post. He pushed his hips upward, trying to get more friction. “You play a dangerous game, Stark. I could just put you underneath me.” He gasped as Stark tightened around him yet again. “ … Force you—force you to my will.”

Stark hummed, unconvinced. “Yeahhh—you could,” he said finally. “ … but you won’t. You know why?” Stark leaned forward, gripped the top of the headboard with his own hands. The shift in angle was … “Because this feels so good, just the way we’re doing it. You—” Stark finally—finally—pulled up, shoved himself back down, tight around Loki’s cock as the god gasped. “—underneath me, in my control? You kind of like it, don’t you, babe?”

Finally getting the friction he needed, Loki gave up fighting to simply arch into the pleasure of being ridden, Stark’s rampant cock dripping its seed onto him, Stark’s eyes closed as he began to drive them harder toward their peaks.

Loki—finally—moaned, writhed on the bed’s surface, and held the headboard slats almost hard enough to splinter them.

And, in a last burst of clarity before submitting to sensation, he had to admit it—Stark had been right.

These sheets were _magnificent_.


	3. Defiled

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Loki snorted, not looking up from his book. “‘Deviant behavior?’ They obviously aren’t aware that your favorite position is missionary-style.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter **rated M** for a brief amount of dirty talk.
> 
> Prompt: _Frostiron, media response to finding out._
> 
> I also fudged a clone-prompt mention, but more on clones to come ...

It was a sunny Sunday morning, around 10 a.m. Tony was looking hopefully at the second half of his bagel, slathered photo-perfect with cream cheese. He silently promised it, “Later,” took a sip of coffee, and glanced over at his lover. 

Loki sat on other side of the small round table, paging through a book, his own breakfast barely nibbled at. Bagels, reading, bathrobes: their lazy-morning ritual. 

Then, JARVIS: “Sir, you asked me to inform you if your relationship with Master Loki were covered in the major media. I have accessed a feed that is particularly … impassioned.”

“Put it on.” The screen on the far wall showed, unsurprisingly, a gaggle of conservative pundits, red-faced with outrage. The audio picked up with “—and one can only imagine the deviant behavior that—that _alien_ is subjecting him to!” Nods all around. “What do we even know about Loki’s background—who his parents are … “

“Mute.” Tony turned his attention back to breakfast.

Loki snorted, not looking up from his book. “‘Deviant behavior?’ They obviously aren’t aware that your favorite position is missionary-style.”

Tony glanced over, trying to read the tone but finding nothing to work with. “Problem?” He reached for his coffee.

The smile spread glacially slow across Loki’s face. He turned a page. “Not at all. Though the accusations of your media mouthpieces make me wonder if I’m missing an opportunity.”

The mug settled back on the table, and Tony swiped a curl of cream cheese off the surface of the bagel. “ … to … ?” He stuck his finger in his mouth.

“Defile you.” 

Tony sputtered around the digit. Reached for the coffee and realized it wouldn’t actually help. Finally, “Define ‘defile.’”

Loki set down his book, turned his full attention to Tony. “Use my copies to simultaneously fuck every hole your body has to offer. As an example.” He looked thoughtful. “Fasten your cock into a device that denies you orgasm until you lose your sanity. Or push my entire forearm into your body cavity, to see if you could come from being so impaled.” 

Tony’s brain couldn’t sort between the signals of terror and conflicted arousal suddenly vying for supremacy. “You— Uh. You want to …” The bagel didn’t look so good, all of a sudden. “ … Would it even fit?”

A shrug. “Perhaps. Either way, it would be interesting. ‘Deviant,’ as those fools say. But … “

Tony just braced himself, wondering if this could possibly get more confusing.

With a graceful hand, Loki nudged Tony’s plate toward him. “I find I haven’t the taste for such things, now. I would rather … “

And, at a single warm look from cool, green eyes, the tension leached from Tony’s body as quickly as it had come.

“I would rather have you on your back, thighs around me, with your heels driving me on,” Loki continued. “Because, as you yourself have said, I do very much prefer to see your face. When we are together.”

They finished their ritual in embarrassed, pleased silence.


	4. Conflicted

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tony made his choice. No one said it was a good one.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter **rated General**. 
> 
> For the prompt: _Frostiron, false hope_
> 
> I have one written before this one, but since this one has a sad, I'm posting it first so there's sexy/funny still to come!

When Tony walked back into the room, he was just hanging up the phone. “That was Steve,” he told Loki, who, incidentally, had heard every word of Tony’s side of the call, but faked puzzled curiosity anyway.

“And?” he prompted as Tony walked over to where Loki sat, cross-legged on the sofa.

“Yeah—no.” Tony stared down at the phone in his hand as if hoping for a different answer. “Clint won’t come back. And Natasha said she has to go where he is.”

Loki was silent for a moment—an attempt to read Tony’s mood rather than consider his words. “So. What does this mean, then? For you?”

Tony sighed, put the phone down on the coffee table as he sat next to Loki. “I don’t know. They say they’ll still be on the team—just traveling from SHIELD instead.” He thought for a minute, gave Loki a pinched smile. “And I guess I’m down two roommates.”

“One roommate.”

Tony frowned, made an inquisitive noise.

“Just one roommate. You have gained one, remember?”

Tony huffed. “How could I forget?” He rubbed his hands over his face.

Loki waited until Tony met his eyes again. “You spoke to Rogers for a long time. Was there anything else?”

“What?” Tony’s focus returned. “Oh. Yeah. Well, apparently Natasha made some shitty comment about loyalty when she said she was going with Clint. And that just set Steve off. You know. Not exactly in our favor.” He craned his neck toward the ceiling, resting his head on the sofa back. “Well, not exactly in _my_ favor.”

Loki had nothing else to say. He started to think about where he would go that night, when Tony inevitably turned to alcohol and forced arguments. He was considering the merits of some Mediterranean ruins when Tony’s voice startled him.

“I have to hope they’re gonna come around, you know? It helps to have the team together. They can’t possibly hold a grudge about this—” Here he waved between them. “—forever.”

Loki studied his fingernails, made a little noise. “That’s optimistic. I know for a truth that one can hold a grudge for as long as a mortal life. At least.”

He got an incredulous look, and he could feel the first constructed argument, the first excuse for conflict taking shape. And, sure enough, Tony’s next volley dripped with sarcasm. “Geez, that’s _great_. Aren’t you always so _good_ at making me feel better.”

Loki exhaled and started counting the moments until it was time to leave for the night. “Perhaps not. But I don’t think that’s why you brought me here.” Then he stood and walked away.

He knew from experience: The storm would follow.


	5. Stockholmed

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It was day five of his kidnapping, and Tony Stark wasn’t keen to be rescued. It would be a little embarrassing, you know, finger-trapped as he was between two of Loki’s clones.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter **rated Explicit** for sexual situations and my usual brand of Tony!swearing.
> 
> For the prompt: _Loki/Tony/Loki/Loki/etc aka happy fun times with clones!_

It was day five of his kidnapping, and Tony Stark wasn’t keen to be rescued.

Yeah, he wanted the other Avengers to bust in, punch Loki in his goddamned smug face, and get him back to his comfortable home--homes, dammit--but ... not right now.

It would be a little damned embarrassing, you know, on his hands and knees and finger-trapped as he was between two of the fucker’s clones. He pulled off the thick cock that was thrusting halfway down his throat, turned to the real Loki: “You’re a kinky fuck, you know that?”

A rough hand from what he called Clone One grabbed his hair, pulled him back--again--to keep sucking. He moaned around the insistent direction as Clone Two kept up the rhythmic pounding of his ass.

“What can I say? You’re so pretty this way, Stark.” Loki was in a--well, it was a stupid throne against the wall, watching Tony get erotically debased, _again_ , one oil-glistening hand stroking his own cock luxuriantly. “When I took you--oh, I love that turn of phrase--I had no idea I’d be so entertained.”

Stark pulled back off, spoke quickly before he was forced back to his task. “Wish I could say the same--Christ, are you going to let me come? Ever?” Loki had worked some kind of magic on his dick on day two, keeping him from orgasm no matter what the clones did or how hard he got. If he’d known this was the torture in mind, he might have fought a little harder to escape--

Yeah, no, he wouldn’t. Clone One’s hot length slid back between his lips and he hollowed his cheeks, sucked hard to speed things along. Then moaned around flesh as Clone Two found a good angle. God, his ass hurt. In the best possible way.

“Oh, are you bored, Stark?” Yeah, Tony hated that tone. It meant that--

God, Clone Three. The third fake Loki slid in under his belly, lit by the arc reactor. Tony felt the long tongue dart out and--

_Oh, God--licking--the licking._

Another withdrawal. “God, you fucker--just ... _nngh_ \--screw letting me go, okay? Just let me come!” Another hot violation of his throat.

“You know my terms, Stark.” Loki stood, approached the trio--oh, quartet. (That tongue--Jesus. It lapped at the swollen head of Tony’s cock greedily as Tony tried to gasp around his mouthful.) “Tell me you want _me_ to fuck you.”

This time, Clone One pulled back on his--its?--own. Tony spat, “You already are, unless I forgot what getting reamed feels like.” Oh, a nice angle again from Clone Two, and he sighed. And Clone Three had moved on to gentle, thorough sucking. His dick felt like it was being goddamned _wooed_.

Yeah, but--okay, he knew what Loki meant, and this was going to go on forever unless he--

Finally, he cracked. “Yeah, just ... just fucking do it!” As Clone Two vanished and the real Loki took up his place, kneeling on the floor, Tony spread his own thighs in desperate welcome. The first thrust was hard, hit perfectly, and almost made Tony scream around the cock he worked furiously in his own mouth.

It was just seconds--perfect seconds. Then Tony groaned as he, finally, emptied his balls, pulse after ecstatic pulse, into the waiting mouth beneath him.

Yeah, he didn’t want to be rescued. Not right now.


	6. Dispelled

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tony stands on the other side of Loki's prison wall. Loki plays a little trick.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter rated **Teen** for vague sexual references and Tony!swearing.
> 
> Inspired by [this Tony/Loki gifset](http://obscyr.tumblr.com/post/50997436870/in-which-tony-visits-loki-in-prison-and-the-god-of), with Tony on the other side of Loki's cell wall.
> 
> AUish in that it doesn't line up with the time line of the _Thor 2_ trailer, etc.

It was the knuckles. The sight of Loki’s knuckles, scabbed-over and bruised, hands twisting and twitching on his abdomen—Thor hadn’t been telling the truth, they had been hiding—

They had been hurting—making Loki hurt—

Oh, shit, that wouldn't fly. “Open the door.” Tony Stark looked around quickly—revised his order when he couldn’t see a hinge or seam in the clear glass. “Open it.”

Thor rumbled behind him. “No, I cannot.”

Tony wouldn’t take his eyes off the god on the floor, who regarded him with little interest. He was thinner, hair grown long and knotted, locked away for God knows how long and subjected to whatever the Asgardians could think of—how he had gotten his hands injured, what he’d been fighting off—

Jesus Christ, he was fucking helpless in a cage, and they were still—

“You fucking can, Thor. Open it now.” Tony squeezed his eyes shut, exhaled loudly as Thor neither moved nor spoke. “I can’t— I'm not cool with whatever the hell you guys are doing to him, _while he's in prison_. Just--open the door, so I can see for myself—”

“And I tell you, Tony, I cannot. The All-Father has judged that Loki—”

“I _don’t. Fucking. Care_ about Daddy-O’s sentence, Thor.”

And Loki … roused. Freshly interested in Tony’s arrival after barely acknowledging him at first. His posture changed, first leaning forward and then rising up to his knees, face contorting as unseen pains made themselves felt. Internal damage, maybe--God. “Stark,” he sighed, with a weak smile.

He _should_ recognize Tony. He _should_ react. The pull between them couldn’t be entirely one-sided, could it?

He tried to remember if he’d ever heard Loki say his name.

Meanwhile, it was obvious Thor didn’t know. But Tony figured he’d guess soon enough.

“Whatever the hell you are doing to him, it stops now.” Tony stepped closer to the glass. “I’m the first— I’m the first person to want him to pay for what he did, but … you’ve kept him here for how long, Thor?”

Thor didn’t answer. Tony knew—the Chitauri invasion had been three years before. The marks on Loki’s knuckles were fresh. He moved as if his pains had just been inflicted. Whatever was being done to Loki was still being done, when he was trapped and unable to defend himself. “Okay, then,” Tony continued into the silence. “How much longer?”

This time, it was Loki who answered, eyes glittering, hands falling limply to his sides as he knelt. “An eternity, Stark. They mean to keep me here until the end.” He glanced at Thor, then back. “Until Ragnarok.”

Forever, or close enough to it, Tony heard. He touched the glass. It pulsed, warm, and he knew it wasn’t as simple as an “in case of emergency” protocol. If it was, he already would have broken it.

Thor finally replied. “If I open it—if I let you in, my father’s anger will be unprecedented, Stark.” He was attempting to keep his tone flat, neutral—but Tony could hear the hesitation. Hear the opening. Loki’s eyes never left his.

Tony slid to his own knees, mirroring Loki’s position on the other side of the glass, now smudged where Tony's fingers had dragged down. “And you will always be his son, and he will _get the fuck over it_ ,” he hissed. “I just want to make sure he’s okay, since you guys apparently _torture your fucking captives_.” A little more to it, yeah, and Thor would know, would figure it out. Would fill in the blanks of the days between the invasion and Loki's return to Asgard, what had happened between the Man of Iron and the God of Lies.

What Tony had been unable to forget. And, perhaps, what Loki was now counting on. If Loki was half the trouble Tony thought he was, the god was more than banking on Tony’s fond memories of those confused, frantic, violent moments. Loki’s muffled moans behind the mask as Tony—

As Tony used him, with hard fingers and harder words, as Loki offered himself up in a bid for something. Not absolution—that would be stupid—but maybe just a cure for boredom.

Or the germination of the seed of freedom.

But, fuckin'-A, this was ... _No._ Tony's hand was still on the glass. “Thor, please.” He couldn’t take his eyes off Loki. It’s possible he’d been bewitched, sure, Christ, could anything else explain his reaction? But— “Please.”

He didn't respond to the sound Thor made. The glass stuttered, intact at one moment, then turning staticky as Tony’s fingers sank through. He looked up to his right, saw Thor pressing the flat head of his hammer where the surface had been. Face grim; resolutely not looking at either man. The ends of his hair crackled, and then the wall was gone.

Loki’s laugh was half-gasp, the corners of his eyes crinkled and wet with joy. His shock was complete. “Stark … “

Tony stood. “Hey,” Tony said softly, taking a step forward, just to look--to examine.

“Oh, Stark,” Loki breathed, chest expanding in obvious relief. He moved to his feet. "You are a delight." And then, as Tony watched, the smoky tendrils of Loki’s magic erased the damage to his knuckles, and his spine straightened to its full length. Scars and hurts, faked. Wiped away easier than grime under soap and water.

But Tony only smiled back, knowing and full of indulgence. “You’re welcome, your deviousness,” he snorted. _Bewitched, maybe_ , he thought, sure Loki would read his expression, _but, no, you didn’t get one over on me._

Not completely, anyway.

Loki had the grace to parody an abashed look. “Join me, then?” he offered, amused.

And Thor was still silent, but the wheels had turned, teeth in the cogs aligning finally—Tony saw a quick movement out of the corner of his eye—

And before Tony had a chance to answer the question—before Thor had time to fix the glass back in place—Loki seized Tony’s wrist, and Tony felt the pinpricks of spellcast as he was transported from the prison to whatever waited next.

Wherever Loki would take him.

Bewitched? Yeah, maybe—but fuck it.

_Bring it on._


	7. Devoted

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gods don't negotiate monogamy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First of three prompt fills to celebrate 300 Tumblr followers. This one for [seekingidlewild](http://archiveofourown.org/users/SeekingIdlewild/pseuds/SeekingIdlewild), who wanted: 
> 
> _Bruce has been in denial about his feelings for Tony for a while. Tony is wrapped up in his “arrangement” with Loki and hasn’t noticed, but Loki figures it out almost immediately._
> 
> Here I am [on Tumblr](http://hannahrhen.tumblr.com/)!

To everyone’s surprise, especially Tony’s, Loki wasn’t the jealous type.

It had less to do with his emotional stability, which—even Loki would admit—was nil. More to do with the fact that, despite everything, he still knew himself to be a god. Not “believed,” which would imply even a moment of doubt in that arrogant, devious head. Simply knew it in his bones, and glided through each day as if everyone else knew it, too.

Ergo: No mere mortal could compete with him in anything that mattered.

Tony would have found the big-dick posturing irritating if it hadn’t been so stunning to behold … and so flattering. His own vertically-gifted Napoleon, confidently staking his claim. To Tony.

Yeah, it was kinda hot.

So Loki would talk briefly, coolly, about the “Midgardians” who seemed to compete for Tony’s affection. Amused or curious, at most. Pepper Potts, for example—Tony’s former love, now paled in passion if still present as a source of support. Rhodey, whose draw to Tony was purely fraternal. Steve Rogers, whose tiny infatuation with Stark-the-modern-hero Loki found diverting.

Still, despite Loki’s marrow-deep beliefs, Tony could see that there was one Loki would never turn his back on. The one who had actually proven that he could surpass this god: mild-mannered Bruce Banner.

Tony had known from the helicarrier, from the way Bruce’s eyes had followed him in the lab, that he could get more from the physicist, if he wanted it. That Bruce would offer more. And Tony couldn’t deny that the thought had its appeal when his mind was wandering, the way he’d sometimes consider peanut butter ice cream over strawberry, and, yeah, that was a shitty metaphor. Because the strawberry ice cream wouldn’t totally fuck him up if he went for a single scoop of someone else.

They’d never discussed Tony being a one-dick guy—not Loki, either. But it seemed kind of a given, what with the already mentioned bone-deep conviction and all. No god would negotiate monogamy.

Or accept anything less.

So, while Tony might look, and while he might enjoy being looked at in return, he kept his worship purely Norse. Bruce deserved someone, and Tony would care for him, but always as a friend. Loki may have believed that, but Loki, with all of his posturing, also deserved that.

Which was why Tony’s options were few the evening Loki quietly observed, “He wants you.” The tone was unlike how he discussed Pepper, Rhodey. Even Steve’s little crush.

“Who doesn’t, babe,” he responded, all studied casualness, and went back to work—slowly scooting closer to where Loki’s hip pressed against the table’s edge.

Loki wasn’t the jealous type, no. He didn’t—really—have to be.

But Tony still choreographed every meeting between the three of them. Measured his distance from Bruce, moderated his tone. Circled Loki carefully as the three talked, always in arm’s reach. Sometimes, ridiculously, touched a hand to Loki’s back as he passed.

They were rituals, and, with them, Tony declared his faith.


	8. Exposed

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It was getting harder not to get caught.
> 
> (Part of the Good, Giving, Game 'verse.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another 300-follower Tumblr prompt fill, this one from [chasingriver](http://archiveofourown.org/users/chasingriver/pseuds/chasingriver): "As for a prompt, how about Frostiron public sex where they’re (mostly) trying not to get caught? Anything you write is fantastic - I’ll just be happy to read more ficlets!"
> 
> [GGG 'verse](http://archiveofourown.org/series/43617): references days 13 (corsets) and 27/28 (spanking) and specifically references [Miscue](http://archiveofourown.org/works/845911).

It was getting harder not to get caught.

Tony wasn’t worried about his teammates—much. They all knew, after that supremely uncomfortable discovery of Loki on his knees, thoroughly servicing Tony, that shit was going down. The detailed report Tony gave filled in the other blanks.

And, after the drama with Robots Take Manhattan, there was no question left. Everyone knew he was makin’ it with Loki on a regular basis. If the definition of “everyone” began at Loki’s resignedly tolerant brother and ended at—uh—Maria Hill, or whoever Maria dumped her workplace horrors on.

Point being, it hadn’t gotten far outside Tony’s clique of superheroes and spooks. And maybe wouldn’t, until the right time.

Whenever that was. Probably something mutually agreed upon by Fury and Pepper, if Tony knew what was good for him. Of course, if Tony knew what was good for him, maybe he wouldn’t be—

Yeah, fuck it, he totally would. And Fury and Pepper knew Tony Stark, but Loki was a total wild card, in the best way. The pranks, of course, hadn’t ended after Pacific Rim, and Tony’s now-permitted “punishments” weren’t exactly a deterrent. In fact, the occurrences only increased after that, and with each one …

With each one, Loki only became more bold. More obvious.

If his attention drifted to Tony before, it now honed in with ice-pick precision. The once-insulting observations now suggested … now were suggestive. Speculating on Tony’s prowess. His—uh—assets. Endurance. Asking questions Loki already knew the answers to, and all the more loudly if civilians were present. More than once, Tony caught heads swiveling in his direction as Loki landed a particularly pointed, and sexual, taunt.

Tony flushed hotly behind the mask—shit, yeah, even he could feel embarrassed—and comforted himself with the knowledge that Loki would be stripped and pulled over Tony’s knee soon enough, half-laughing, half-groaning as Tony delivered his revenge onto Loki’s perfectly willing, writhing ass.

Mm. No, he wasn’t going to blush at that. And he had no reason to think today would go any differently. Tony landed on the rooftop a few feet away from the troublemaker, who had unleashed rivers of golden pudding into the streets below. Gross, and messy, but harmless enough, even as bystanders had to lift gooey, sticky feet out of the cream. Some shoes were lost.

Whatever.

Tony popped off his helmet. Loki’s back was to him, and he didn’t move until Tony opened his mouth to speak—to cajole him off the roof and forward today’s game.

But then Loki whirled, his cape fluttering back from his shoulders.

Tony’s eyes popped.

Holy shit. _The corset._

Tony had first seen it on day thirteen, and only a few times since, but he had it captured forever in his memory. Today, paired with sleek black leather trousers, boots, and all that green … Christ, even hidden beneath the folds of the demurely arranged cape—

Oh, it was Tony’s very favorite thing, and the gift Loki would give him, especially when he wanted something in return. His throat clicked drily, once, before he swallowed. Tried again: “Baby, I—”

“Do you want me, Stark?” Chin tilted down, Loki only lifted his eyes to Tony’s. A show of modesty, but entirely affected.

Tony shot him an incredulous look, and bit out, “Always.”

“Then show me.” With that, he unclasped the cape quickly—dropped it on the cement roof beneath their feet. Baring all that smooth flesh--that strong muscle--drawn and cinched into the laced form around his chest. 

_God._

Were they going to-- Was this--? “Loki, I—”

“Show me,” he whispered. _“Show them.”_

Oh.

Okay, then—it was _time._ Tony gave no more than a moment’s thought to the thousands of news alerts, calls and texts, lectures from fucking Steve Rogers and screaming matches with Fury … and offered Loki a half-smile as he stepped closer, across the exposed roof.

It was hard to get a good hold on Loki’s waist from inside the armor—impossible to truly enjoy the corset—but that wasn’t the point. He got the hold he could, drew Loki in … and pressed his mouth to the one now raised to him. Waited until he knew, and then moved in with a little tongue.

As Loki’s mouth began to respond to his, the now-familiar, always-welcome dance, Tony heard the distant “holy crap!” from a neighboring building and possibly only imagined a thousand shutters firing at once.

The corset bones were curved hard beneath his metal fingertips, and he wondered how far he could take this before someone showed up with a firehose.

As Loki began to pry his armor off piece by piece, Tony realized he didn’t fucking care.


	9. Compromised

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Loki's magic has a hold on Tony.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt fill for clareithromycin, who asked: "Frostiron, specifically about Loki’s magic being some sort of other sense for Loki to use. How does Loki’s magic react to being around other people? Does it like certain people? Does Loki use it as an early warning system, does it tell him to avoid certain people? (and then Loki ignores it) Does it fuck up completely if Loki loses his grip, tries to wrap itself around others to hold them close? Bit meta, but I haven’t had a chance to figure out how to write it yet!"

Tony never would tell the other Avengers about it—and definitely not Fury—because he knew what it would get him:

 _COMPROMISED_ , stamped in red letters across a manila folder with an intentionally ugly head shot inside.

Tony wasn’t compromised—not in any way SHIELD or the others could understand, but …

But he could feel Loki’s magic, okay? Feel like like a shroud, like some kind of infusion: around him, inside him, surrounding and slithering deep into his bones.

The weird thing was—ha, well, the _weirdest_ thing was—Loki didn’t even have to be close. That touch hadn’t faded even when Thor had taken Loki back to Asgard to make up with Odin (or whatever the fuck they did—either way, Loki didn’t turn up dead or mutilated or gibbering, so … “make up” was a good a description as any, and Tony awkwardly hid his relief when they’d landed back on the balcony weeks later).

Most of the time, that touch was soft, made of slow undulations almost exactly like walking into seawater the precise temperature as his skin. Not imperceptible, by any means, but almost an extension of his own body.

That? Was when Loki was happy. With him.

Loki wasn’t always happy with him. Loki wasn’t always happy, period.

Tony knew: Loki, in fact, was rarely just happy. And when Tony pissed him off, those strange, lulling waves would tighten—Tony would feel swollen in his own skin, itchy. It wouldn’t hurt, not really, but the discomfort would push him to fucking rectify the situation, and fast. And, while it wouldn’t compel him to apologize when he knew he was right (and he was always, _always_ right), it usually kept him in the same room, or brought him back to where Loki seethed and trembled.

When Loki wanted him—no, when Loki wanted him away from other people, Tony would feel the pull on his skin, a thousand tiny, if thankfully painless, fishhooks tugging him in whatever direction Loki agonized. This was really goddamned inconvenient when Tony was in battle, armored-up, and his own sense of direction was muddied by that emotionally unstable magnetic pole. When Loki had him again, the hooks would release one by one in millisecond snaps until he fell into Loki’s arms, pissed and relieved.

You’d think sadness would be the worst—it wasn’t, actually. Tony felt that heaviness in his heart, in his chest, which already sucked with the reactor—but this was sort of a nostalgic yearning that stopped Tony’s mile-a-minute mouth and compelled him to be, yeah, nicer to the people around him for a few hours at a time. At least until he found Loki again and ran fingers through the god’s dark hair, and the ache faded.

No, the sadness wasn’t the worst.

The worst was that time, that first time, Loki had said—not “I love you,” because … _no_ , but something so close it was indistinguishable, and Tony hadn’t said it back (immediately). Tony stared at the back of Loki’s head as the other faced the window, silent, and, as the moment stretched—

Tony felt Loki’s magic drawing away. The sag on his his heart, the tightening irritation, those tiny, tiny hooks, and that warm, languid, _ever-present_ surge that announced desire. For a second, Tony remembered what it felt like to be alone. To just _be_.

He’d laughed, shaken his head at his own stupidity and his own goddamned need. “You idiot. I do.” He took a step forward, then another. “I do, too.”

And with that, Tony was bound up again. Filled, again.

And, yeah, he was fucking compromised.


	10. Damaged Goods

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Loving a god hurts.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Working through a little writer’s block with some Frostiron—kind of a continuation/meld of two prompt fics I did: [Conflicted](http://archiveofourown.org/works/634946/chapters/1151906) and [Compromised](http://archiveofourown.org/works/634946/chapters/1846448), with a dash of [Ever-Fixed Mark](http://archiveofourown.org/works/583265). None of them schmoopy, so be warned.
> 
> Still noodling over the idea suggested by [clareithromycin](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Clareithromycin/pseuds/Clareithromycin) of Loki’s magic having a tangible hold over Tony. Wanted to explore the idea of it being an unhappy thing—that, yeah, loving a god hurt.
> 
> Or, if you will, fucking a god _really_ hurts.

Loving Loki hurt.

Yeah—no. What Tony and Loki were doing wasn’t love, so let’s not leave that impression. Instead, let’s try this:

 _Being_ with Loki hurt. In every way.

Physically—oh, hell, yes. Tony had known professional sadists with a gentler touch. Loki fucked like he was trying to reshape Tony into a custom fit, make him the complement to sharp hips and teeth, greedy hands and cock. His foreplay? Wit dusted over anger, with barely seductive touches and some hair pulling before Tony is shoved backwards to the bed.

Every time— _every time_ —Tony lets his breath out in a groan as Loki presses his legs apart and settles between them with all his dense-boned, gravity-adoring alien weight. Pinned down, belly to belly, legs splayed and hooked around Loki’s back in a way his joints and ligaments never learned to do without creaking.

(Not _cracking._ Yet.)

The actual fucking was worse, of course. (And better, oh-so-much better, and Tony wouldn’t be reshaped, remade without a fight otherwise.) Loki swallowed Tony’s little sounds of pain and bit his most tender spots in praise as Tony scraped Loki’s back and grunted into his neck. Giving back a little of what Tony was feeling, a mere mortal being made to _take it_.

Being remade, yeah, from the inside out.

If Tony had a hard time walking the next day—if it took time to cover up the marks on his neck and collarbone … well, Loki wasn’t exactly around to see it. Used and left, until the next time. He was a walking—hobbling—cliché.

Then, yeah—his head ached, too. His psyche. _Whatever_ —he’d suffered some goddamned _loss_ as a result of this arrangement. Pepper. _Pepper,_ who never looked at him like she used to—like the sun just rose and set on his ass. Maybe would never look at him that way again, now that she’d been forced to defend his “dalliance with the war criminal known as Loki” to the board. And the media.

Now she just peered at him like the dog that was about to shit on her lawn.

Instant migraine.

Fury, on the other hand, could go fuck himself, but it was still a little hard seeing the almost gleeful “I knew it!” look on his face whenever Loki’s name came up in a briefing. Admittedly, Tony only got that look in occasional briefings these days, since _COMPROMISED_ had been stamped on his permanent record months before. He’d catch Steve watching him, mouth pinched; Steve stayed mostly silent since he’d uttered the L-word once, questioningly, and Tony had—God—laughed so fucking hard.

Clint, on the other hand, ignored him from the outset, like they were having a middle school cafeteria fight, complete with post-meeting flounce.

(Clint’s flounces usually ended up with Tony pushed “accidentally” into a wall, but those tender spots he could blame on Loki, too, indirectly.)

Meanwhile, Thor’s own prejudices about dudes screwing other dudes clearly were fighting a valiant battle with his appreciation of the one person on Midgard—the _one_ person, goddammit, _Thor_ —who didn’t want to kill Loki on sight. So Thor’s mouth was pinched, too, even when he was trying so hard to look encouraging. Somewhere on Tony’s to-do list was sitting Thor down with a week of _Ellen_ episodes and the biggest chill pill he could find.

(And then …)

And then. That third pain—the phantom one. That weird-ass mojo that Loki had worked on him, maybe on purpose. Maybe not. But Tony had felt it since the first time they’d been together: a strange bracket around his chest, a light pressure, ever-present. It was just enough to make things a little bit rougher for his heart and lungs, organs that Tony had a particular affinity for, and a particularly bad history with.

He was sure that mojo was intentional, at first. It started the morning after their first fuck, and it made Tony a little panicky when they’d go for days without seeing each other, and he’d wonder if Loki was just going to leave him like this. He’d work a little to draw in each breath, and wonder what the hell Loki had done to him. Suspect that Loki had left behind this little souvenir meant to drain Tony’s strength.

Leave him weak for the next fight.

(Their next fight.)

JARVIS didn’t pick anything up, no matter how many times, and how many ways, Tony asked. Respiration, normal. Heart rate, normal. Oxygen levels—yeah. All fucking good. Which didn’t explain the feeling of something bearing him down when he tried to sleep, heavy as his alien fuckbuddy. Or pulling him down when he was in the air, a bare tether around his abdomen. Not enough to hurt. But enough that … he wasn’t imagining it.

He _knew_ he wasn’t.

It had been going on for months, all of those pains, since their first fuck on the rickety cot in Tony’s workshop, since their discovery by Bruce-then-Hulk not long enough later. And Loki had disappeared, and left behind that memento. And Loki had … come back. Pressed him down until Tony couldn’t feel a _phantom_ weight anymore, only the white-heat torment of being wrenched open and taken. And taken.

And _taken._

God, it hurt.

And, God, yes, it was hot. Needful. Because, where Loki gave pain, he also gave pleasure. Where Loki left aches, he also left a soul-deep satiety that Tony had never known. It hurt to move … and Tony didn’t want to move, after.

A thousand years of experience, at Tony’s disposal. A thousand years of experience _focused_ on Tony, as Loki’s mouth found his, as that magic tongue courted Tony’s own. Whispering sweet taunts into the shell of his ear as Tony’s legs were caught and spread wide and Loki unerringly sought, _found_ his target. He couldn’t push Loki away as he was clutching the biceps trapping him and just trying to hold _on,_ laughing and gasping his shock into Loki’s own nearest ear.

Christ.

Even so, even fucked stupid, he thought about calling it off, this _arrangement_. Thought about it a lot, especially when Pepper was trying to close off a phone call while Tony was still talking, or when Fury got that particular tone in his voice as he started naming suspects for some vicious, inhuman crimes, building up to his very favorite. Thought about it a lot, when Loki disappeared for days or weeks on end.

Was it fucking worth it?

Sometimes, after Loki had moved off him, and Tony had eventually unkinked himself enough to retreat to the bathroom to “clean up” (not recover, and definitely not _hide_ ), he would stare at himself in the mirror. Assess the bite marks on his collarbone, blood beading just below the surface. The bruises on his hips, shadowed with the crescent nail-marks of ten ungentle fingers.

The way his _whole goddamned core_ hurt, ass to diaphragm, when he sat down on the edge of the tub.

(Definitely not hiding.)

The way he could feel Loki’s claim on him like a full-body leash, manifestation of the worst kind of insane girlfriend, this one huge and male and superpowered.

(Just as crazy, though. And what the fuck was he _doing_?)

So, he thought about it, as he stared at himself in the mirror, fucked-out hair, gleam of sweat over his forehead, uncertainty in his eyes for the first time in— A long fucking time. Yeah, Tony thought about ending it. Dumping the crazy girlfriend and paying whatever price that would incur.

(He was fucked. That price was more than anyone could pay.)

And then …

And then he’d catch sight of Loki, sliding the door open and moving in silently behind him, surveying the marks over Tony’s body and the tightness in his posture. And he would bloodlessly ask—had bloodlessly asked, that one time, “Are you injured, Stark?”

And right before Tony had snapped back, something like, “What the fuck do you think?” or “Nothing that a little emergency-room run won’t cure,” he’d turned and met Loki’s eyes directly. Really looked at his face. And the god, or whatever he was, had the exact same tightness in his posture—the same conflict in his eyes. The same …

Yeah, okay—want.

(Oh, I _want_ you.)

He saw Loki’s hands clench at his sides and knew his suspicions were founded. Knew the claim on Tony—whatever was pressing down on him—was intentional. And knew just as much that Loki actually couldn’t help it.

Tony had sighed, tried a little smile. Answered low as he stepped closer to where Loki blocked the exit: “No, baby—it’s all good.” Hid the pain as best he could. And felt Loki’s fingers trace softly over the marks of his possession, leaving little shivers, little prickles of gooseflesh, behind.

(And, Tony thought, they were both fucked.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Find me on tumblr](http://hannahrhen.tumblr.com), where I rant and rave over how awesome everyone else's fic is and bang my head against the wall about my own.


	11. Reciprocated

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tony can’t leave that whole tulip thing alone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt fill from tumblr, in honor of 400 followers! Cyrallia wanted "reciprocation." It became a sequel to the unapologetically fluffy [Springtime in the Park](http://archiveofourown.org/works/804508).
> 
>  **Rating** : General, with some swearing

After weeks of failed attempts, Tony was about to give up.

Okay, so, the attempts hadn’t been constant. He could hardly, given the ongoing attacks from enemies both new and familiar, justify spending too much time on …

_Flowers._

Ever since that park situation—ever since Loki had left the bright tulips on the cement bench just eighteen inches from Tony’s armored ass—Tony had felt the burning need to return the favor. Couldn’t bear the thought of the God of Mischief having something to hold over him. Even if—

Even if what was being held over was some kind of … romantic token?

Right?

 _Ugh._ Whatever it was, Loki had stepped up his game with that gesture. And it turned out it was damned hard to carry flowers in one of the suits. 

It didn’t help that JARVIS refused to take the effort seriously, at one point suggesting, tongue planted firmly in noncorporeal cheek, that Tony mount a crystal vase on his shoulderplate “and only fly perpendicular to the ground, Sir, so the water doesn’t spill.”

They had both fallen silent after that—Tony with a simmering kind of embarrassed rage-on, JARVIS due to his successfully programmed self-preservation.

It was, and probably unnecessary to point out, impossible to carry flowers inside the suit. The first—only—time he’d tried, he’d drawn the bunch out of a special reinforced lining under his ribcage, only to fling away a mess of broken stems and petals before Loki turned his attention to Tony. Yeah, okay, Loki was in the middle of hitting Hulk and Thor with a barrage of fire bolts, but … you know, those guys could handle themselves, and it wasn’t like Loki was really _trying_ these days.

Not _that_ kind of trying, anyway. This fucking scheme to give Loki some flowers back was trying Tony’s last _nerve,_ though.

Which was why, when given the opportunity, Tony Stark decided he had to act fast. JARVIS had been tracking the god-alien-whatever’s appearances for months, and they had discovered that Loki seemed to have an affinity for … pastry. And lots of it. Godly amounts of it. When JARVIS pinged Tony that Loki had entered a café, just a few blocks north and famed for its Linzer torte, Tony hurled himself through the penthouse, grunted in impatience as the Mark V formed around him, and practically fell to his death (again) speeding through the air.

The suit had barely retracted before he was shoving a fifty-dollar bill into the hand of a befuddled shopkeeper while dragging a soaking wet bunch of zinnias out of a bucket. Waved off the man’s offers to bind the bouquet in cellophane and raffia and sprinted down the sidewalk on unhappy legs, suitcase bouncing around in his other hand.

When Loki looked up from his table just inside the cafe doors, Tony, hunched over and panting just a _little_ bit, immediately knew the insanity that greeted his view. Crazy hair, rumpled clothes, dripping (but intact!) bunch of purple, yellow, and white flowers … and, of course, the eyes of a man who’s suddenly terrified he’s being incredibly stupid.

Tony could feel his expression turn hopeful, even as he braced for that poison tongue.

The corner of Loki’s mouth, adorned with a crumb and bit of powdered sugar, turned up as he leaned back in his chair. He gestured to the empty seat at the other side of the table. “Join me, Stark. The cake here is splendid. And I think,” he said with a little nod at Tony's hand, “those are for me?”

As Tony dropped the damp bouquet to the tabletop and reached for the chair, he wondered how long it would take him to catch his breath. Looked Loki over, returned the smile, and suspected he wouldn’t be able to for a long time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This little thing has a sequel: [Bostock](http://archiveofourown.org/works/1152616).


	12. Resistance

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Don’t think for a second I’m going to buy that we’re destined to be together.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt fill, this one from clareithromycin, who wanted: _"Frostiron, soulmate AU. Soulmates exist on Asgard, but aren’t know of on earth. Loki trying to convince Tony on the subject."_
> 
>  **Rating** : General, some swearing

Admittedly, Tony wasn’t particularly receptive to new information when he was puking his guts out. So Loki standing behind him as he hovered over the toilet, trying not to hear the asshole’s words about fate and destiny and forever, was a little more than Tony could take.

“Shut up!” he finally managed between gags, barely believing it had come to this, hurling in his master bath while Loki God of Mischief, Lies, and Really Shitty Timing watched.

Fuck.

“Stark.” Yeah, Loki was still doing that calm-voiced thing that was so unlike him it only freaked Tony out more. “The longer you fight it, the worse you will feel.”

Tony flushed the toilet, stood, and managed a weak glare at the god-bastard as he wiped his mouth with his sleeve. “I am not,” he gasped, “your soulmate.” Bent over slightly at the waist and braced his hands just above his knees. Fuck, his stomach still hurt. _Everything_ hurt. “There is no such thing, you nasty, mojo-flinging sack of shit. Whatever you’re doing, just … fucking do it. Get it over with. But don’t think for a second I’m going to buy that we’re destined to be together.”

Oh, shit—he was gonna puke again. “Get out!” he croaked, before he did just that.

Didn’t quite make it to toilet that time.

When Tony saw Thor’s face, two days later, he knew it was bad. He’d been bedridden since Loki’s departure, with a steady stream of concerned visitors, friends, teammates, and doctors of medicine so specialized that their client base consisted solely of Avengers and X-Men. Their tones—all of them—had morphed slowly from the semiamused tolerance of Tony’s latest foibles to … yeah. The voices, the expressions of those who thought they might be saying goodbye.

No, he wouldn’t go to a hospital. Not when JARVIS said the attempts at treating the symptoms were all immediate failures. Not when Tony knew the cause was … fuck. _Fuck_ Loki. Fuck Loki and his nasty mojo. Why go all this way—why wait so long—just to kill Tony too-slowly with a curse?

And then, here was Thor: “Tony, it is no curse.”

As if Tony wouldn’t believe Thor—Thor, who perhaps didn’t actually know how to lie--the enormous man rested a hand on Tony’s forearm where it lay over the sheet and blankets. A reassuring gesture, and not really reassuring in the least.

He explained, emphatically and in very simple words, that what Loki had said was true. Soulmates, rare on Asgard, almost nonexistent on Midgard, were bound together spiritually, emotionally, and physically. Predicting your soulmate was impossible. Breaking the bond, once set, also impossible.

Tony would weaken, sicken further, but _linger_ , until he accepted the truth. Until he accepted the reach of Loki’s twisted heart.

Tony’s head sank back further into the pillows. He squeezed his eyes shut, pretended he didn’t care that Thor saw the tears streak down his temples into his hair. Felt Thor’s hand on his arm tighten and then rub, comfortingly, two or three times.

He drew in a breath—yeah, more like a gasp—and opened his eyes to look at Thor again. “Fuck, but … what if I hate him? Doesn't that count for ... _anything?_ Why _him?_ ”

Thor actually snorted a bit, shook his head and patted Tony a little harder, more decisively. “If there is one thing I know about soulmates, Tony—and it is only what I’ve been told, since I have never been so blessed … “ He trailed off, offering Tony a small smile, another encouragement. “Bonds don’t form between those who truly despise each other.” He glanced behind himself, toward the open door, and … oh, Christ, Thor was here to present his brother’s suit. Of course he was.

Thor continued. “You may find you and Loki have more between you than you think.”

Tony wasn’t sure—really wasn’t sure—he was ready for what was on the other side of that door. Strange, lurking shithead. But Thor’s face was all earnestness, and his hand was reassuring, and … goddammit. It looked like yet another situation was totally out of his control.

Those sometimes worked out well. Sometimes.

Maybe.

“Fuck, okay.” Tony slowly pushed himself up against the headboard, let Thor help him arrange the pillows to support his back. Imagined—or not—that his headache, his stomach pains, and the misery in his heart were beginning to alleviate.

“Just … yeah.” He braced himself, then looked toward the door. “Send him in.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This has been reposted as the opening to a new Soulmate AU series, [Here Comes Your Man](http://archiveofourown.org/series/61591).


End file.
